


A Portrait Of The Artist As...

by Doodledust (PackGuardian)



Series: Portraits [1]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Description Heavy, Gen, Moist has ADHD, One Shot, mild canon divergence?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 14:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30040338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PackGuardian/pseuds/Doodledust
Summary: "I want you to look at something, Mr Lipwig," Vetinari said plainly. "Can you do that for me?""I have eyes and I can see, sir," Moist replied with a shrug.--A meeting goes... as planned? Awry?
Relationships: Moist von Lipwig & Havelock Vetinari
Series: Portraits [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2219961
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	A Portrait Of The Artist As...

**Author's Note:**

> Title is in reference to both James Joyce and 'A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man', and Dylan Thomas and 'A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog'. You can decide for yourself which is more appropriate.

"Come in, Mr Lipwig."  
"Morning, sir!" Moist said cheerily, giving one of his best smiles.

There was a plain hum from the desk that expressed nothing except acknowledging that he had spoken. A chair was opposite Vetinari's desk, one of the plain, uncomfortable ones that usually lined a passage downstairs.

"Sit please," Vetinari said, moving things around his desk.  
Moist took off his hat and sat down obediently, but not straight. Vetinari looked at him. He at least put both feet on the floor.  
"I want you to look at something, Mr Lipwig," Vetinari said plainly. "Can you do that for me?"  
"I have eyes and I can see, sir," Moist replied with a shrug.  
"Good." Vetinari took a flat wooden panel from a drawer, and passed it over the desk to Moist. Then he turned his head away. 

It was an old sketch portrait, one typically done by an artist as reference for a final piece.

The portrait showed a tall, slender, young man with jet black hair and a slight, undefined expression. If not for the raised eyebrow and the exact combination of signet rings worn on the left hand clutching its corresponding lapel, the subject would have been unrecognisable. He was clean shaven and his hair was cut short. There was a healthy volume to his face and figure, an olive tint to his skin, and only the faintest brushstroke of shadow beneath his eyes.  
The suit young Vetinari wore was exquisitely tailored and would have been highly fashionable twenty years ago, yet Moist's mind rebelled against the sight of it. The reason being, it was _pine green_ . The only black in the ensemble appeared to be in his tie and shoes, even his trousers were slate grey.   
The high-breasted waistcoat worn beneath the suit jacket (which had a false waist-front closure alongside many tiny buttons on either side which logically should have done nothing at all - some things never changed at least) was a bright emerald that would have been very attractive if it didn't feel plain wrong.

Examination made out his expression to be something close to boredom.

Moist glanced between the portrait and the man across the desk. He knew they were the same person, but he couldn't logically understand how time had turned the slightly bored, olive-toned, fashionably green clad subject of the portrait into the severe, unnervingly pale, strictly black-robed figure currently pretending not to be watching him.  
In truth he had a hard time processing the visual evidence before him that Vetinari had once been close to his own age.   
"So," he began to say.

Vetinari's eyes moved first, then his head snapped almost mechanically into place to look straight at him. He blinked disconcertingly.

Moist's thought processes fled in terror, and he glanced back down at the portrait in desperation to remember what he was going to say.  
"So," he started again. "This is-" he accidentally made eye contact and faltered for a moment. "Is what you looked like when... when you took office?"  
"It is," Vetinari reached across and took the painted panel from him.  
For less than a second his face flickered into an expression that might have been wistful as his eyes passed over his thirty-something year old self. He brushed a speck of dust from the upper corner with his sleeve and turned his gaze back to Moist.  
Fear had gone, but sense had not yet returned. Moist did something he immediately knew was stupid.  
"What happened?" he asked.

Vetinari's face turned cold and he managed to look even more severe than usual without also looking angry or disappointed, or even raising an eyebrow.  
"A great many things, Mr Lipwig," he said sternly. "Most of which I do not find relevant to discuss."  
"Right... of course. Sorry, sir."

The eyebrow twitched, but was not raised.

"It's a nice suit," Moist nodded at the portrait. "I, uh... like the colour."  
Some of the severity faded. "So did I," Vetinari said.  
"I... suppose you _don't_ still have it, sir?"  
Vetinari's eyes searched the recesses of his perfect memory. "It might still be in storage somewhere."  
"Ah," Moist said. His mind conjured an image he didn't completely reject at second thought. "It would... still be a good colour on you, I think sir."  
Vetinari sat back in his chair a little and fit his fingers together. "Perhaps," he said after a few moments of complete silence.

Moist found a small smile and nodded with a feeling of validation. The tracest amount of a smile was echoed back to him from across the desk.  
"I shall see you next week, Mr Lipwig," Vetinari said abruptly.  
"Yes, of course sir!" Moist replied, sitting up straight. "Wednesday again, sir?"  
Vetinari glanced at the contents of the desk. "I shall see. You will know in advance."  
"Oh... thank you, sir."  
Vetinari hummed and placed the portrait aside. "Goodbye, Mr Lipwig."  
Moist stood up from his chair. "Yes, bye sir, see you next week."

Vetinari sat forwards in his chair, briefly looked into an empty tea cup and then began acting as if Moist had already left, selecting a piece of paperwork and placing it in front of himself. Moist put on his hat and hurried out of the office. 

Once he had shut the door behind him, Vetinari glanced up and sat back in his chair. For a few moments, he remained still, merely tracing one of his rings with his fingertip.  
Then he glanced at the portrait where he had put it. He looked pointedly at his empty tea cup, banishing a train of thought.  
He called for Drumknott.  
"Another cup of tea, if you will," he said when his secretary appeared. "And make Mr Lipwig an appointment for the same time next Wednesday, please."  
"Yes, my lord." Drumknott said, taking the cup and glancing at the portrait carefully etched in one corner with _H.V_.  
"Leave that please, thank you."

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Ever draw a thing and immediately have to write about it? I did, and this happened. This could be considered canon divergent, but it also might not be depending on your interpretation of pre-named patrician references.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and comments, as always, are appreciated! <3


End file.
